


Man of My Dreams

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-07
Updated: 2003-05-07
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11334579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Two men share hot, sexy dreams. Can they make them      come true? Hmm.





	Man of My Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Man of My Dreams

### Man of My Dreams

#### by Lyrical Soul

  

    
    
         Date: Sunday, April 27, 2003 12:44 AM
         Well, I've been writing this story for years. I've tweaked
         it, changed it, deleted it, and agonized over it. And
         because a certain fanfic writer... :::cough!Xanthe:::
         threatened me, I'm posting it. I hope you all enjoy it. 
    
         Title: Man of My Dreams
         Pairing: Skinner/Mulder
         Author: Lyrical Soul
         Rating: NC-17
         Archive: Slashing Mulder, Basement, Home of the Goddess,
         wherever...
         Spoilers: Yes. Nothing past season 6, though.
         Disclaimer: The poor things were in the dumpster at Fox, and
         I'm keeping them! 
         Beta: Jo B, MarzeDotes, Wretched.
         Thanks: Louise Wu for alpha reading two years ago, and
         giving sound advice: "Make it funny!" To Jo B, #1
         cheerleader: "Post it!" 
         Notes: Prequel (sort of) to The Bet, and Speed Trap. You can
         find both at The Basement or Slashing Mulder. 
         Special Guest Stars: Slight, unflattering mention of
         amalgamation of Rat-like character. No harm, no foul. And a
         certain cute man was mentioned just for Xanthe...because she
         fanned my obsessions.
         Dedication: For my Mom, my biggest fan. She didn't
         understand slash, but supported whatever I did, reserving
         her right to comment. May she rest in peace. Also for my
         Sweetykins, whose understanding goes beyond words. 
         Feedback: Welcomed with open arms. .
         Summary: Two men share hot, sexy dreams. Can they make them
         come true? Hmm...
    

* * *

Man of My Dreams  
By Lyrical Soul 

Hegel Place  
4:25am 

"Oh...god, yes!" His firm hand is stroking my cock. I moan and wriggle closer. "More...I need more." 

"You can have all you want," he says, his rough tone causing me to shiver. He lays me across the feathery bed and falls on top of me. "You want me?" 

"Yes...god...please. Please..." I'm panting, hot as hell, wanting him so badly. 

He cups my face gently. I never knew he was capable of such tenderness. "Whatever you want." He enters me quickly, and I catch my breath at the sensation. Pulling me close, he begins thrusting inside me. 

I'm writhing; impaled by a thickness I didn't know my body was capable of accepting. The feeling is intense. "Oh, yeah," I moan. "Just like that." 

"You're mine..." he whispers, stroking my rock hard cock in his strong grip. "All of you...mine." 

"Please," I beg. I'm aching, wanting the feeling the last forever. "Please...oh, please...please..." I breathe in his scent. It's raw and sexy. I arch closer, wanting to be filled to the hilt. "Oh, god!" I cry out as he thrusts harder. He's wild, aroused beyond control. I revel in the fact that I caused this wildness. I want everything he can give me. "Yes..."I moan. 

"Give it to me," he rasps, pounding into me harder, faster. He smoothes his hands down my body, branding me. "Give me what you won't give anyone else." 

I panic. I'm not sure what he wants, and I don't want to disappoint him. "What? I don't know..." 

"Shh," he croons, and begins a rhythmic stroking of my cock, matching his thrusts. "You're mine, only mine. Tell me..." 

He's hitting my prostate with each push forward. "Yes!" I thrash my head against the pillow in frustration. 

"Let me have you..." 

At those words, I let go. My body tightens, and the white-hot pleasure of my orgasm approaches. I move under him fast, clutching at him, trying to absorb him. "I'm...oh, god! Oh...yes! I'm yours...yours..." I howl and arch off the bed, coming so hard I nearly pass out. 

"Mine," he pants, holding me tightly. "Mine." 

"Yours..." I sigh, and clench my teeth as more tremors shoot through me. He pulls away, and I roll over to snuggle into his unique warmth. 

I hit the floor with a thud that rattles my teeth. 

Damn. 

Another dream. 

Wide awake now, I drag myself off the floor and back onto the couch with a sigh. I feel the wet stickiness on... damn, just about everything, and squirm against the cushions. Nothing I can do about that. I'm too limp and worn out to care. I lie back and breathe deeply, letting the sensations wash over me. 

That was the most incredible dream I've had since this madness all started. Better than any porno flick in my collection. Better than any 900 number I've got on speed dial. The best dream I've had the entire time I've been dreaming about him. 

It's always so real. I can smell him, taste him, feel him. My body throbs for hours afterward. I can barely look him in the eye at work. 

Walter Skinner, the man of my dreams. 

It's not hard to believe that I'm having dreams of hot sex with my boss. My surly, snarling, overbearing, hopelessly grumpy boss. I see him enough to warrant him making an occasional appearance in a dream or two, but I don't know how to begin to explain my actual attraction to him. We've always had a good balance of antagonism/disobedience going, but this is something even I couldn't imagine. 

I don't know exactly when my feelings for him changed. Maybe it was the last time he tackled me in the hallway at work. Or maybe it was seeing him in workout gear in the gym. Hell, maybe it's the fact that we've been thrust together a few more times than normal on cases in the last seven months. I just hope they're not putting drugs in my water again. 

All I know is that I want him. Maybe I've even fallen in love with him. I spend hours thinking about ways to seduce him. I need to know if it's only a dream, or if I can make it a reality. Maybe Scully can help me. I sure hope so. If I don't do something soon, I'm going to set a world record for wet dreams. 

* * *

Viva Towers  
5:23am 

I jerk awake, cursing as I roll onto my back. I push the sheets aside, sighing in disgust at the wetness I feel there. A man my age has no business having wet dreams. Especially not night after night...after night. I know I can't control my subconscious, but this is getting out of hand. 

I dreamed about _him_. Again. 

That I'm having sexual dreams about a man doesn't really bother me. Well...maybe a little, having been married for seventeen years. It's not as if I've never had sex with a man before, but they've been few, and definitely not recently. What bothers me is... it's _him_. The bane of my existence, the reason for my ulcer, the long, lean, hazel-eyed, pouty-lipped, sexy man of my wet dreams. 

Mulder. 

Go figure. 

These are great dreams, despite the frustration that comes with them. Hot, sweaty, get up and change the sheets sex, coupled with intense feelings of ...things I'm not sure I even want to admit. 

At first, I chalked it up to the fact that we worked a case together in Baltimore last month. Not a tough case, but the ASAC needed the firm hand of an AD, and I was it. Mulder and I worked different aspects of the case, and he was elated when we caught the serial rapist. He was different with me, more open, honest...relaxed. That may have triggered my attraction to him, because I've been rock hard ever since. The dreams began the night after I jerked off in the shower with his name on my lips. 

I keep asking myself, why him? The answer to that question will probably require intense therapy and maybe a few bottles of Night Train to figure out. Hell, I just know I want him. I don't know if I want him for the night or for keeps. Right now, it doesn't matter. 

I can't sleep. I keep flashing back on my dreams. The feel of entering him...the heat, and the tight, perfect fit...keeps my dick hard all the time. My dream Mulder arouses me like no other person has, real or fantasy. I lie down at night, determined not to dream about him, but my subconscious seems to have other plans. 

This has to stop. No matter how the dreams make me feel, I can't go on like this. I'm distracted in meetings. I'm snapping at my assistant, and acting like a bear. I'm hot, hard, and frustrated all the time. I want him like I've never wanted anything before. Plain and simple. In my arms, my bed, my life...whatever. I think I need to talk to a psychologist. 

Mulder's a psychologist. How apropos. 

I've got to do something. I'm starting to prune from all these cold showers. 

* * *

Friday, 2:55pm.  
X-Files Office 

"Scully, do you believe that a dream is a wish your heart makes?" I hand her a mug of steaming tea, and try to look nonchalant. 

She accepts the tea, and looks at me as though I forgot to put on deodorant. "Mulder, have you been watching the Disney channel again? You know that's hazardous to your health. All those motherless girls tugging at your heartstrings, and a cricket for a conscience. Stick to grown up stuff, like South Park." 

I smirk at her. "I've had this lecture before, Scully. Come on, answer." 

"You don't believe in dreams and wishes. Why do you ask?" 

That's my Scully. Sensible to a fault. A no-nonsense kind of woman. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay, Scully. What I'm telling you doesn't go beyond the confines of this office." I think about that for a moment. "And the Consortium's office...wherever that is." 

"Ooh, a secret." Scully loves secrets. Especially mine. She sets her tea aside, and rubs her hands together. "Tell me, Mulder." 

"Now you have to be open to extreme possibilities, okay?" She nods impatiently, so I go on. "I dreamed that I had...hot, sweaty, noisy, scorching, too-ashamed-to-look-at-you-the-next-day sex." 

She laughs. A loud, unladylike laugh. "I've told you time and again that if you fall asleep watching those videos, you will have those kinds of dreams. It's a natural thing, Mulder, to have noc-" 

"Thank you, Dr. Scully, but I know _that_." 

Taking a sip of her tea, she shakes her head. "Oh, Mulder...you dreaming about sex is no secret. You think about sex more than Dr. Ruth and Larry Flynt combined. I thought you had some juicy gossip to tell." 

I hate it when she's disinterested. It's worse than her disbelief. "This was different. I've been having these dreams for the last few uh...weeks." I'm not admitting more than that. "These are good dreams, with hot, hot sex, but there was more. They were about belonging to someone. When I woke up, I was fulfilled...but something was missing." 

"What, besides the person in the dreams?" 

I ignore her sarcasm. "The more I think about the dreams, as the details of each encounter becomes clear, I realize my subconscious is pushing me to stop running from what I need." 

She looks at me. A little sadly, I think. "And your brilliant subconscious told you that you need hot, shameful sex? You never cease to amaze me, Mulder." 

"You wound me, Scully," I counter. 

"I hate when you're like this." She sighs, looks at the ceiling, then back at me. "I'm probably going to regret this, but who were you having this uh, hot, hot sex with?" 

I studiously avoid her eyes. "Um, well..." I can't tell her. She'll die. 

"Is it me?" Her voice sounds a bit squeaky. "Mulder...I, uh, that is we...well, given the closeness of our-" 

I know where she's going with this, so I cut her off at the pass. "Skinner." I say it quietly, my eyes never leaving her face. Her mouth drops open. "I know it's a bad idea. Just the thought... Scully, close your mouth." 

She's still gaping at me. "Skinner? Mulder, it's a terrible idea. Skinner isn't...he's as straight as they come. He'll probably knock your teeth out for thinking that he might..." She shakes her head again. "When you go, you do go all out, Mulder." 

"I know what you're thinking, Scully. But...what if Skinner...he could be...as sexy as he is, I'm sure he's had men proposition him before. And he's a sensualist. I can tell. All those whiter than white shirts, tailored suits, expensive leather shoes, silk ties. Sensual fabrics, Scully. That says a lot about his nature." 

She snorts at me. "It says he makes more money than we do." 

"Scully..." 

"Mulder, he doesn't even like you." 

I start to protest, then stop. Nothing like the bleakness of reality to take the wind out of your sails. "There's a thin line between lust and hate," I retort, a bit hurt. "He could...he kinda likes me...maybe not as much as you do, but he doesn't hate me." 

Ignoring me, she continues, "And he's our boss. You can't just...seduce him. If it backfires, you'll be in Alaska, investigating ice fishing X-files." She gets up and moves over to stand next to me. "God, I can't believe I'm even having this conversation with you." 

I look at her. Have I shocked her? I thought sure she would have figured it out by now. "Scully, you did know that I was...?" I trail off, unsure of what I should say, and if I should actually say it here. And what am I? Gay? Bisexual? Doesn't matter. I look at her, inwardly cringing. 

"You're at a loss for words? This is something." She waves a hand at me. "Yes, Mulder. I know that you are..." She trails off, probably thinking better of saying it here, too. "For the Boys? A switch hitter?" She smiles at her own pun. "I'm your partner. How could I not know?" 

"Oh." I blink. Shit. Am I that transparent? Am I swishy? Did she find out about me and 'he who shall remain nameless'? God, I hope not. I start to ask her how she knows, but I don't think I want to know. "Well, maybe Skinner is, too. I am the premiere profiler here." 

"You promised you would only use your powers for good, Mulder." Her tone is chiding, but I can hear the amusement, too. "I can't believe that you're willing to put everything on the line for shameful sex. With our boss. You've managed to amaze me. Again." 

I feel an irrational need to defend myself. "I didn't say it was shameful, I said...never mind, that's not important. It's not the sex, Scully. I think I'm in love with him." I pause. "Okay, the scorching sex is a big plus. And you're jealous, huh?" I tease her to take the edge off the conversation. 

"Yeah, right." She downs the rest of her tea, and clangs the mug on the desktop. "Why would I be jealous? He's our _boss_ , Mulder." 

"Yeah, and the thought of hot, sweaty sex with Skinner, our _boss_ , turns you on. You're turned on now." 

I know my Scully. Her cheeks are red. "Damned profiler." She laughs. "If you strike out, mention me." 

"You're a bad girl, Dana Scully. But a definite asset to the team." I stand up, straighten my tie, and run my fingers through my hair. "How do I look?" 

She looks at me critically. "Gorgeous, as usual. Where are you going?" 

"To Skinner's office." 

With a frown, she gestures at the folder in my hand. "A case you haven't told me about?" 

"Nope. I just want to see him. This is that old gag case...you know, the one with the chicken?" 

"Oh," she says. "You're just going to annoy him, joking like that." 

"I repeat: thin line, Scully. Maybe I can get him to have a drink with me. Wish me luck." 

"Good luck not getting your teeth knocked out, Mulder," she says, going back to her chair. 

"Thanks a lot, partner." I leave her shaking her head. 

* * *

JEH, 4th Floor  
3:33pm 

I stop at Kimberly's desk, waiting for her to finish her phone conversation. She's one of the best assistants in the building. And she's very protective of her boss. She hangs up the phone and looks at me suspiciously, a look that she's given me a hundred times. 

"What do you want, Agent Mulder?" She glances at her computer screen. "I don't show you as having an appointment." 

"Is he busy?" I'm trying to maintain a casual faade, knowing that Kimberly is the one female that I can't charm. She hates to see me coming. I heard her tell another assistant that after I leave Skinner's office, it takes three days to get him to unclench his jaw. Granted, I do cause more than my fair share of headaches, and I did ransack his office once... 

"Yes, he's busy. And he's in a foul mood. More than usual." She glances at the door and lowers her voice. "He's been yelling at everyone all week. He looks like he hasn't slept in a month." She looks me over. "Did you do something I haven't heard about to make him this way?" 

I give her my best 'who me?' look. "I've been a model employee this month," I quip. "I've got the parking space to prove it." 

She glares at me. "Agent Mulder..." 

"Kim..." 

"Give me your solemn promise that you won't upset him." 

I shift from foot to foot. "You know how we mix. Oil and water." 

She leans back in her chair, and folds her arms across her chest. The message is clear: if I don't convince her, I don't get to see him. I could just run past her, but that would spoil the mood. I've got seduction on my mind, not a three-day suspension. 

"Okay, I promise that I will not make him any worse than he is already. Scout's honor." I hold up my fingers to convince her of my sincerity. 

She sighs. "Wrong fingers, Agent Mulder." Then, to my surprise, she gestures at the closed door. "Enter at your own risk. And of course, I wasn't at my desk when you came up here." 

"Of course." I watch her grab her coffee mug and escape down the hallway. Now or never. I square my shoulders, and tap on the door. 

"What is it?" He sounds like a bear caught in a trap. Definitely not conducive to seduction. 

I open the door and enter the room cautiously. He isn't at his desk. He's standing at the window, staring out at the skyline. I get a nice view of his nice ass. "Sir?" I enter his office tentatively, not wanting to make him grouchier than he already seems to be. 

* * *

Mulder. Damn. I almost went an entire week without seeing him. I knew I should have locked the door. Maybe if I avoid looking at him... I continue to stare out the window. "I told Kimberly I didn't want to be disturbed," I say in my best growl. 

"I...she wasn't at her desk, sir, so...I, uh, I just thought I'd take a chance..." 

I hear the nervousness in his voice, and make the mistake of turning to look at him. He's standing there, looking so earnest and sexy, I clench my jaw to stem the moan gathering in my throat. Fuck. "What do you want, Agent Mulder?" 

He's looking at me oddly, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. "You don't, um, sir...forgive me for saying so, but you look like hell. Are you ill?" 

Yes, Agent Mulder, I've got the "I Must Fuck You" virus. Why is he torturing me? Why can't he just throw a file at me, give me some bullshit line, spout some insane theory, throw out a rant about trust, and make me sign the damned 302? Why does he have to stand there, looking like a model, smelling fresh and clean, frustrating me? I clench my jaw tighter. "I am not ill. I just haven't been sleeping well." Why am I telling him this? Now I'm having flashbacks of him hot and panting beneath me. Shit. "For the second time, Agent...what do you want?" 

"Bad dreams, sir?" 

He sounds so concerned, I almost tell him. _Almost_. But they don't call me The Stone for nothing. I don't want to talk. I want to grab him, throw him across my desk and fuck him, like I did in last night's... Enough of that train of thought. It's enough that I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Writhing. Naked. Begging to be taken, licked, sucked...loved. I swallow hard. "I'm not in the mood for your...antics today, Mulder. Why did you come up here?" 

* * *

He looks terrible. To the untrained observer, he's looking delicious as usual. His clothes are fresh, he's clean shaven, his posture straight. But to me, knowing him as well as I do, there's something in his eyes--besides the dark circles the glasses almost hide--I can tell he's having a hard time with something. Something he doesn't want me to know. 

"Agent Mulder. Talk or walk." 

Shit. This is worse than I thought. I can't think when he's growling at me like this. Why _did_ I come up here? Oh, yeah, to tease him. I look at his face, and suddenly, this doesn't seem like a great idea after all. But, being me, I do it anyway. "Um, well, there's a case, and I...need..." 

"Leave the file and go back to your office. I'll call you after I read it." 

He sounds like a bear with laryngitis. I've never heard him like this. Definitely not conducive to seduction. Maybe humor will work. "Um, sir, the case will only take a few minutes to outline. May I?" I give him my best professional look, combined with my most pleading look. 

My look seems to work. He sits down in his chair, glares at his watch, then at me. "Make it quick." 

I hadn't counted on this. Surly, I can deal with. I can even deal with him humoring me. But this...there's something I can't quite put my finger on. I open the folder and pretend to read. Hopefully, he'll see the humor. I clear my throat. "Well, sir, I have a report of a series of unexplained happenings at a fast food place in Kansas. The owner thinks that the place may be haunted." I look at him. 

He leans back in his chair and shakes his head. A sure sign I'm headed for wiretap transcription. "That's it?" 

I swallow and go on. "It's the chicken pieces, sir. The owner says they won't stay in the oil. They seem to object to the eleven herbs and spices." No harm in a little levity. I look at him, but he's still glaring at me. Damn. "Anyway, every time a worker puts the chicken in the pressure cooker, they return to find the pieces arranged in a pentagram on the floor, covered in salt and a blood-like substance." 

"And...?" 

I frown. _And_? Did he not hear me say pentagram? Blood-like? That's usually the prompt for the patented Skinner response. A rant on wasting the Bureau's resources, a threat to put me on surveillance, an 'are you out of your mind, Agent Mulder?', but I get nothing. Something is definitely wrong. "What is it, sir? Has someone...is there something that I can do to help you?" 

He stops glaring, but he still looks pissed. "It's nothing, Agent Mulder. Like I said, I'm having trouble sleeping. I'll sort it out." 

I watch him roll his head from side to side, as if trying to relieve the stress in his neck. My fingers itch to go and massage him. I nearly groan as he reaches a hand up to rub a spot on the back of his neck. "I...know how you feel, sir. I don't sleep well as a general rule, and recently, I've been seeing some...disturbing images in my dreams." I wonder what he'd say if he knew that he was the image, and not all that disturbing. 

He nods. "Nothing that you can't handle, I'm sure. Having a good partner who'll listen to you should be a big help." 

I realize that my boss has just made a fleeting request to be...helped. Okay...maybe that's a bit of a stretch, but I'll take every bit I can get. Something's bothering him, and he wants to talk about it. Now, I know that he won't sit down over drinks and pour his heart out to me. I have to handle this just right. Maybe I can get him to my place and massage it out of him...no. I promised to use my powers for good. He'd probably have me fired if I offered to massage him anyway. 

Hmm...how to handle this. Skinner is full of secrets, and he's used to keeping them. A situation like this calls for drastic measures. Maybe I can drag him off for what marriage counselors call cave time. Sports, alcohol, cigars...manly stuff. A man can sit and shoot the shit with a guy he trusts, and if the thing that's bothering him comes up, it will be dealt with in a strong, silent way. Perfect for the strong, silent type like Skinner. Him trusting me enough to open up is a long shot, but worth a try. If not, I can always seduce it out of him. 

He clears his throat. "If there's nothing else..." 

"Sir...I've got tickets to the, uh, basketball...yeah, the Wizards game tonight. Maybe...it could help take your mind off your troubles." 

His eyebrows rise. "The basketball game?" He's frowning as if I asked him to attend a ritual sacrifice. 

I shrug. "I know it's the Wizards, sir, but they're playing the Lakers. It should be a good game." God only knows what Frohike is going to charge me to get tickets on such short notice. "A friend of mine offered his season seats for the next few games. I was going alone, but..." I trail off, hoping he'll take the hint. 

* * *

As if I want to spend two hours sitting next to the object of my nighttime fantasies. He must be crazy. "We've just come from a week of living in each other's pockets, Agent Mulder. One would think you'd like nothing more than to put a little distance between us." 

He shrugs again. "One would think." 

"I'm not really in the mood for a crowd." On the other hand, I don't want to pass up this opportunity. "I've got lots of work to do..." Great with the protesting too much, Walter. 

"It should be a good game, sir. And these are really good seats. Close enough to hear all the cursing." 

I sigh in defeat. Mulder begs so beautifully. Just like in my dreams. "Okay, Mulder. I'll go to the basketball game with you." It's official--I've finally lost my mind. I am going to willingly spend two hours of my leisure time with my most troublesome agent. And the object of my secret fantasies. 

The look on his face is priceless. He looks a bit shell-shocked. "Um, yes, well...the game starts at 7:45. I need to go home and get changed. Should we, um, let's meet in the garage at 6:30?" 

I nod. "6:30 is good. I'll meet you at my parking space." I am crazy. 

He smiles tentatively. "Okay. I'll see you then." He stands, and turns to go. 

"Agent Mulder." My voice is stern again. 

He turns back to face me, looking a bit tense. "Yes, sir?" 

"About your chicken." I hold out the folder he left on my desk. "Request denied." 

He shrugs and takes the folder. "Too bad. It seemed like an X-file." 

I lean back in my chair. As if I don't know a gag case when I hear one. I think J. Edgar made this one up himself. But I can play along as well as the next man. "Probably unsanitary conditions more than anything, Agent. See you at 6:30." 

The door closes behind him and a toss my pen down in disgust. I can't believe I just went along with his madness. And just what is he up to, coming up here with that phony case bullshit? How am I going to survive the next few hours? I hope I get through this night without needing a straitjacket. 

As soon as the coast is clear, I whip out my phone and hit the speed dial. After a series of beeps and silence, I hear a familiar voice. 

"What's up, Mulder?" 

"Frohike. I need a huge favor." 

"Of course you do, Mulder. What is it this time? Pictures of the grassy knoll? Location of Bat Boy?" 

"I need tickets to the Wizards game tonight. Good seats, but not too good. By six." 

There is a huge silence on the line. Then a sigh. "It's going to cost you. A lot. They're playing the Lakers tonight." 

"I know. Can you do it?" 

"You doubt me? Of course I can do it. Just hold on a minute." He sounds offended. I hear typing in the background. "Who are you trying to impress?" 

"You don't want to know, Frohike. Just use the credit card number you have on file and save the questions for another time." 

"Okay, okay." He's silent for a minute. "All righty then. Two seats, good, but too good. This must be someone special. I'll take an extra fifty bucks, and parts eight and nine of your Backyard Booty series." He pauses. "Or a picture of Scully in a lace bodysuit." 

I laugh. "I'm going to miss my tapes. I'll pick up the tickets at will-call, okay?" 

"Sure, Mulder. What are friends for?" 

"Your kung fu is the best, Frohike." 

He laughs. "Tell that to the delicious Agent Scully." He hangs up before I can reply. 

I fold my phone and head for the basement. 

Scully looks up in amusement as I scurry in. "What's wrong? Is he after you?" 

I frown. "What?" Then I laugh. "Oh. Scully, Scully. You don't think I went up there and told him I wanted to have a session in the sheets, do you? I mean, I do have a little class." 

"Sorry, sorry. What did you do?" 

"I invited him to go to the basketball game with me tonight, and he said yes." I know I sound smug. "Am I good, or what?" 

Her eyes widen. "Oh, god. Mulder..." 

I hold up a hand. "I know what you're going to say, Scully. Don't worry, Frohike is taking care of the tickets for me." 

She raises her eyebrow at me. "I'm not worried about the tickets. I'm worried about you." 

"And I'm worried about him. He's got dark circles under his eyes, and he says he's been having trouble sleeping. He kind of hinted that he might want to talk about it---" 

"Kind of hinted? We are talking about Skinner, right?" 

I knew she would zero in on that. "He wouldn't come right out and say it, Scully. You know how he is. Anyway, I did some quick thinking and told him that I had tickets to the game. I don't have to have hot sex with him." Well, I do, but she doesn't need to know that. "It's just male bonding." 

She looks at me intently. I hope I don't look like I want to have hot sex with my boss. She shakes her head and lets out a long-suffering sigh. "I hope this doesn't backfire, Mulder. Just...I mean, he could be receptive to your...ideas, but if not..." 

"I lose a few teeth. I know, Scully. I'll go easy on him." I smile to reassure her. 

"As unbelievable as I find this, you do need my help." 

"You want to come with us?" I ask, cringing. Talk about a disaster. "I only asked for two tickets, and you don't like basketball, and it's a guy thing, Scully. You wouldn't enjoy-" 

"I'm not trying to horn in on your plans for seduction, Mulder." She rolls her eyes, then looks me over from head to toe. "I just mean.... You haven't been on a date since...hmm, you do know Disco is dead, don't you?" She laughs. "Being your friend, I don't want you to be embarrassed. Without my help, god knows what you'd wear." She cocks her head to the side, thinking. "Okay. Jeans. Black. A new pair, not the old faded ones you always wear. Shirt...hmm...that green Henley you wore on the stakeout. The one those male strippers liked. Shoes. Good shoes, ones that match your pants, and your leather jacket." 

I leer at her. "Been checkin' out the Mulder, hey, Scully?" 

She throws a paper clip at me. "I'm a woman, Mulder. Trust me. I know what makes you look good. If he is...interested, he'll drool when he sees you." 

Skinner drooling? Maybe she's got something there. "Really?" 

"Definitely. The jeans make your legs look longer, and the shirt will make your eyes look like emeralds. Good shoes are kind of a Silence of the Lambs thing. And the leather jacket...well, that makes you look like a hottie." She laughs. "Skinner won't stand a chance." 

I laugh. I can't believe Scully said hottie. "I love you, Scully. Really. This whole 'seduce your boss in ten easy steps' thing is awesome." 

"Thanks, I think. Just be careful. And don't push him." 

"I won't, Mother. I promise." 

"But if you strike out..." 

I laugh. "I know, I know. You have my word, Scully. If he knocks my teeth out, I'll say 'Stully waths you, Thir.' " I dodge another paper clip, turn on my computer, and try to get some work done. 

* * *

Skinner's Office  
6:23pm 

I gaze at myself in the mirror. I can't believe I'm doing this. The man is haunting me in my sleep, and now I'm supposed to sit next to him for the next few hours, breathing in his scent, while pretending to watch a basketball game. I must be a glutton for punishment. What the hell was I thinking, agreeing to this? 

I'm kidding myself thinking he's not going to want to know why I'm having trouble sleeping. He'll badger me until I tell him. 'Yes, Agent Mulder, I've been dreaming about having hot, steamy sex with you for the past three months'. Then what? 'Bosses Who Lust, on the next Jerry Springer.' 

Oh, who the hell am I kidding? We could be going to Cats on Ice for all I care. I just want to...what exactly do I want? I want...him. To have him with me, to make love to him, to...shit. Shit. _Shit_. I feel myself growing hard again. I just came from an icy shower in the gym. I haven't been this hard since...forever. Shit. 

I splash cold water on my face and will my body to relax. After a few minutes, I dry my face, and check myself in the mirror. I think I look all right. Brown jeans. Brown Timberland boots. Tan Henley. Sharon bought the shirt for me. She said it made my eyes look like chocolate kisses. I remember balking at that, but she assured me that chocolate and sexiness went hand in hand. Whatever. 

I shrug into my brown leather bomber jacket and head for the garage. I know this is a mistake. 

* * *

JEH Garage, Executive Level  
6:29pm 

I'm leaning casually against the red classic convertible in Skinner's parking space, wondering if I've fallen into a rabbit hole. I didn't know he drove anything other than a bureau issue Crown Victoria. This is an unexpected treat. Who would have thought it? 

I hear the elevator ding, and look up as Skinner steps out. The man of my dreams. Damn, he's sexy! I know my mouth is hanging open. I've seen him in casual clothes before, but this... He looks good enough to eat. He's striding toward me like a panther, muscles rippling, shoulders broad...damn! He looks like he just stepped off the cover of Hot Daddy magazine. The way those jeans are hugging his thighs, the way the shirt clings to his sexy chest. Catching his eye, I'm suddenly thinking of...hot fudge and Hershey bars? Shit, I've really got it bad. 

* * *

My stomach tightens as I see him leaning against my car. Damn. He is gorgeous. And the way those jeans are making his already long legs look longer. I want to throw him in my backseat and wrap those babies around my waist. Down, Walter. I shake my head to clear it and nod at him. "Ready?" 

He looks at the car, then at me. "This is yours?" 

"It's in my space, Agent Mulder. Isn't that obvious?" 

He runs his hand over the ragtop. "It...I thought you were the Crown Vic type." 

I hit the alarm and the doors unlock. "I'm the Crown Vic type at work, Agent Mulder. This is recreation. I don't wear my suit and tie all the time." 

He gives me a look. I'd swear it was a lustful look, but I don't trust myself these days. 

"Well, it's a nice car, sir." He opens the door and looks inside. "Very nice. Um...what is it?" 

I look at him. I forget that he's...a bit sheltered when it comes to everyday life. "It's a 1959 Thunderbird convertible. I got it from a DEA auction a year ago. It was ripped to shreds inside, but I've been fixing it up. I think it belonged to a drug dealer with ties to the supernatural. You want to drive?" 

His eyes are gleaming as he comes around to the driver's side. "Sure. You trust me that much?" 

"If you're expecting an X-file, forget it. It's just a car." I toss him the keys and head for the other side. I slide into the passenger's seat and buckle my seatbelt. "And why wouldn't I trust you to drive my classic car 10 miles? I'm insured." 

"You've never let me drive before." He smiles and gets behind the wheel. "You don't strike me as the type that rides well." He blinks, then looks at me. "Uh..." 

I have the pleasure of watching him blush. That sounded suspiciously like a come-on. Or my libido has finally gone over the top. "Is that your polite way of saying that I like to be in control?" 

He gives me a sidelong glance. "While flipping through the dictionary, I saw your picture next to the definition of control, sir." 

I glare at him. "We _are_ still at work. I could have you on wiretap transcription in a heartbeat." 

"Uh...maybe that wasn't you after all. Must have been your evil twin who drove all week when we were in Baltimore." 

With a shrug, I concede. "Well, for the record, Agent Mulder, I ride quite well. Just go easy on the dips." 

He looks at me, blinking rapidly. Maybe a bit too much innuendo. "I need to replace the shocks," I explain. Just in case he's thinking I'm a pervert. 

"Okay, sir. You can trust me." He starts the car and eases out of the garage. 

* * *

MCI Center  
7:05pm 

We arrive at the arena, and after I pick up the tickets, we decide that he should go to our seats, and I would go get the snacks. I have the immense pleasure of watching his taut ass in those jeans as he walks away. What a sight! If this were a cartoon, my tongue would be on the ground, slithering after him. 

Lust. Me. Skinner. Unbelievable. 

Actually, I'm having a hard time seeing him as person, not just my boss. The car thing was a surprise, for sure. And his teasing me about the dips nearly had me driving to Makeout Mountain. He's confusing me. Like now. I'm standing in this long line, wondering what kind of food he likes. I mean, most of the agents under him assume that he's an android, and that he doesn't eat. I've never even seen him drink a glass of water. He could be a vegetarian for all I know. He's those broad 'I-work-out' shoulders...suppose he doesn't eat cheese? Or only eats organically grown foods? Or is allergic to nuts? He could be a free radical kind of guy. Shit. I'm _angsting_ over food for my boss. Fuck it. I'll just get a little bit of everything and let him choose from that. And beer. He seems like the beer type. What American man doesn't like beer? With my luck, he'll say he's not American, and has a fondness for Yoohoo and rum. 

Thirty minutes later, I finally have food, and make my way to our seats. Frohike has come through beautifully. Our seats are not close enough to be noticed, and not so far away that we can't see the game. It's so good to have friends that understand the nuances of your job. 

As I near our seats, I freeze in shock at what I see. 

My boss is a babe magnet. There are a group of women congregated near him, touching him, pressing their ample breasts against him. I feel despair rearing its ugly head. He's straight. I'll never have a chance at making my dreams come true. Shit. Well, I'm nothing if I'm not a trooper. Maybe he'll include me in the three...uh, five-some if I play my cards right. With a determined glare, I walk up and clear my throat. 

He looks at me, and the look on his face is not the one I expected. He looks...like he'd rather be anywhere but here. I wonder for a moment why he would look like he's sucking lemons with five beautiful women practically on his lap, and then it hits me. The call-girl fiasco. Shit. I wonder if we're being setup. I know the Consortium has 'friends' everywhere and this would be a prime opportunity for whatever evil deed they can cook up. Sure, it's a bit paranoid, but my paranoia has gotten us through some tough times. 

Time for some action. I turn on the Mulder charm, and give what I hope is my best smile. "Hey...looks like I went to the wrong snack bar. All the good stuff is right here." Well, not exactly charming, but whatever works. 

Skinner rolls his eyes at my lameness, but stands up, reaching for the beer tray. "I'm sorry, ladies, but you know how we men are about watching the game." He's using his polite voice. The one I don't get to hear too often. 

I hand over the tray and check out the ladies. There are two blondes, a red head, and two dark haired women. All wearing the skimpiest outfits I've ever seen. 

One of the blondes--who happens to be the sexiest woman I've seen in a long time-- is checking me out. She smiles, then moves to stand next to me. "I've got snacks for you, honey. It's your lucky night. You wanna get lucky?" She's even cornier than I am, but her beauty effectively distracts me from that. Her voice is husky, very sexy. She tosses her silky hair and smiles at me. "You are gorgeous, honey. The things I could show you and your friend. You'll never be the same." 

I keep myself from taking a step back. I almost expect her to bare her fangs. "Uh, sounds like fun, Ms..." 

"Brandy." She gestures at her friends. "And this is Sage, Blaze, Jade, and Honey." Her friends all give me sultry looks and make a show of tossing their hair. Brandy leans in close, giving me a good look at her cleavage. "If you two are interested in having some fun, give us a call. Anything, anytime. Nothing's too kinky or weird." She slides a business card into my back pocket, her hand caressing my ass subtly. 

I try not to clench my butt cheeks. "Thanks, Brandy. I...we'll keep that in mind." 

Her friends stand up and slide by us, making sure that we get a final rub of their breasts. The red head runs her hand down Skinner's arm. "It was nice talking to you, Sexy. I'll be waiting for your call. I know what you like." She winks, blows him a kiss, then she and her friends climb the stairs in search of other prey. 

I watch them go, eyeing their outfits with what I hope is a leer-- just in case he's watching me, expecting that sort of thing. Don't want to let on that I'm really not interested. Not uninterested, just more interested in _him_. "Couldn't we arrest them?" 

"For what?" he asks, frowning. 

"Indecent exposure? Indecent proposal? Illegal hair-tossing?" 

Skinner, bureaucrat that he is, just shrugs. "We'd have to handcuff them to arrest them, Mulder. They'd consider that an invitation." 

* * *

Mulder laughs and sits down. I look around again, and satisfied that more women aren't headed my way, I sit next to him. 

"Sorry I took so long, sir. The line..." 

"No problem, Mulder. How much do I owe you?" 

The offer seems to take him by surprise. "Um...my treat." He motions to the tray in his lap. "I got a little bit of everything. I didn't think you ate...I mean, I didn't know what you liked, so..." 

I realize Mulder and I have rarely been in a social situation together. Of course he doesn't know what I like to eat. "Whatever you picked is fine, Mulder. I'm not as difficult as my reputation suggests." 

He seems to relax, then hands me a polish sausage on a roll with the works, a small tray of sushi, a container of fresh fruit, and some warm peanuts. "Quite an eclectic mix, Mulder. Thanks, but nachos would have been fine." 

He grins. "I profiled you, and this is what I came up with. I'm not always right, so whatever you don't want, I'll eat. Oh, and this, too." He puts a cellophane wrapped package in my lap. 

I frown at the pink, fluffy confection, then look at him. "You profiled me, and thought I'd like pink cotton candy? Why would you think I'd want to do this to my teeth?" 

"The counter-girl said my eyes looked like emeralds, and gave it to me with her phone number," he says, pointing to the phone number scrawled on the wrapping. Gesturing at the box on his lap, he says, "We can split the nachos." 

"Great." Splitting the nachos in his _lap_. I'm going to need more than a weak beer. A straightjacket may work. 

He's quiet for a few minutes while he nibbles on his snacks, then he smiles at me. "So, tell me, Skinner...what's the deal with the basketball bimbos?" 

The sight of his sweet smile makes me shift in my seat. Who knew a smile could be so arousing? "I have no idea, Mulder. One minute, I'm taking off my jacket, and the next thing I know, I'm surrounded by...breasts. In a previous life, I would have been flattered, but after that shit with the...call girl, I don't...I'm always on guard now. I mean, I appreciate a good looking woman just as much as the next man, but this..." I shake my head. "Basketball bimbos...that's rich." 

"Walter Skinner, babe magnet. Wait 'til I get back to work. It'll confirm your status as the sexiest man alive in the Hoover." 

I hear the teasing in his voice and try not to make more of his comment than I'm sure he meant. "Yeah, right. I'll make sure to mention the seventies lounge lizard lines you used, Mr. Wrong Snack bar. Why didn't you just show them your gold chains and chest hair?" 

"I wasn't _ready_ ," he protests. "Believe me, when I want to pick someone up, I know exactly what to say." 

"I'll bet," I say, trying desperately not to think of him trying to seduce me. I shake my head and take a sip of my beer. I wish I had something stronger. I think I'm going to need it to get me through the game. I've never been around this relaxed, unsuspicious Mulder. Not that it's not a great feeling, but something tells me I've bitten off more than I can chew. Shit. I need some hard liquor. 

* * *

A few hours later, we're making our way through the crowd back to the car. I don't want this evening to end. To my surprise, Skinner is a very interesting man. He has a wicked sense of humor, and he loves basketball just as much as I do. He heckled my team, I heckled him. He has a knack for stats and knows far too much about the history of spandex for my liking, but hey. And I did worry when he hummed along to Michael Jackson's Thriller at halftime. And if I'm not mistaken, he's a bit attracted to me. Okay, it's a bit of a stretch, but he seemed to relish the nacho tray on my lap a bit. 

"Well, that was entertaining, Skinner. You should take your show on the road." 

He glares at me. "If you tell anyone about the Thriller thing, I'll ship you off to Nome, Alaska. I hear there are lots of X-files out there." 

"My lips are sealed." I look at him. "Could you hit the high note once more? I kinda liked it." 

"Go to hell, Mulder," he retorts. He points at a black limo ahead of us. Brandy and company are hanging out of the sunroof, waving. "They found other prey, I guess." 

"Damn. I feel so used." 

"You run fast. I'm sure you can catch them, if that's what you want. Don't let me put a crimp in your style..." 

"Uh...no. I'd rather hear you sing some more." 

"Wiretap is your true destiny, Agent Mulder." 

"Yes, sir," I smirk. Dangling his keys from my finger, I lean against the passenger side of the car. "You get to drive back. I'm feeling woozy." Actually, I'm testing a theory. Will he take me back to his place to 'talk'? Or am I totally wrong about him? 

"You only had three beers, Mulder. And they were watered down. You're just being difficult." 

"Hey, I don't drink often. You wouldn't want me to drive your beautiful car with a slight buzz, would you? Besides it being a crime, I can't imagine what you'd do if I bumped something..." I give him my 'lost puppy' look. 

He frowns, totally ignoring my look. Wouldn't do for the AD to be in a car with an intoxicated driver. And especially not in his classic pride and joy. "Of course not." He looks over the car. I suppose he's inspecting for dents and missing parts. It seems to be all right. "Do you mind if I put the top down? It's warm enough." 

"Does that require me to wear a scarf and huge sunglasses?" 

He gives me a small smile, and I raise my eyebrows. I have never seen him smile. Not even a hint. And for god's sake, I think the man actually has dimples. Damn. This is surreal. "Only if you want to, Mulder." He lets the top down and we're off. 

He expertly guides the car through the clog of traffic and soon we're headed back toward the Hoover. "Thanks for tonight, Mulder. You were right...it did help get my mind off things." 

"You said you were having trouble sleeping? Is it...like before?" Not that I want to dredge up old memories or anything, but I'm dying of curiosity. 

The look he gives me is unreadable. I can feel him fighting to get us back to AD and agent, but I know that's not what he really wants. Besides, it's too late. "No," he says finally. "Look, I'm not a man given to deep discussions and deep conversations. This is uncomfortable for me. Especially when I'm the subject." 

Don't I know it. I'd been working for him for three years before I found out he was married. And I would have never known if his wife hadn't come to talk to me. "I wasn't trying to push you, sir. I'm just trying to help." 

He sighs. "I know, Mulder. It's not that I don't want your help. But I really don't think you can help me." 

"I know what it's like not to be able to sleep, sir." 

"I know you do, Mulder. That's not the point here." 

He's so cute when he's surly. How did I not notice it for all these years? "Sorry. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I just want you to know that I know how you feel." 

His hands clench on the steering wheel. "I don't think so. I've never, well, I haven't had dreams like this since I was a teenager." 

Oh, shit. If he starts talking about sex dreams, I'm going to jump out of the car. But I've gotta know. "Involving...sex?" 

I have the pleasure of seeing my hard as nails boss blush to the tips of his ears. "Um...shit, Mulder." He shakes his head. I'm sure he's wishing he'd agreed to come with me. "Look...I know that dreams are supposed to be about desires and all that crap that you repress, but this...this is different. I can't sleep, and it's bugging the hell out of me." 

I nod. We're nearing the exit for Crystal City, and I hold my breath. I just know he's going to invite me over. 

"Look, Mulder." He looks at me and takes a deep breath. "Do you want to come to my house for coffee? I think I'd feel better talking about this on my home turf. And I might give you a slice of pie, if you don't do anything insane." 

You are the man, Fox Mulder! Insane, indeed. I wonder how he'd react if I tackled him and gave him a blowjob. Hmm...might be a little over the top, even for me. I bite my lower lip, trying not to pounce. "Sure," I say casually. "I'd love a cup of coffee. Though you don't seem like the type to have a pie lying around the house." 

He heads for the exit. "I have a thing for pecan pie, Agent Mulder. I have a fresh pie waiting for me on the kitchen counter as we speak." 

Well, I'll be damned. My sexy, surly boss has a sweet tooth. This ought to be fun. "Lead the way, sir." 

* * *

Viva Towers  
Crystal City  
10:43pm 

As I unlock the door to my condo, I know that I have lost my mind. I cannot believe I've let things get this out of hand. Not only did I tell Mulder that my dreams are sexual, I invited him to my house for coffee. It was bad enough sitting next to him in a crowded arena for a few hours. But now, I'm at home and I can smell him, touch him...shit. 

"Take your shoes off, Mulder," I bark. I know I sound grouchy. "I just got the carpet shampooed, and it may still be a bit damp." I take off my boots and put them in the closet. My jacket goes on the coat rack near the door. "I'll go put on the coffee." I leave him there gaping at me. 

After a few minutes, I sense him behind me. I turn to find him staring at me, curiosity written all over his face. "What is it?" I gesture at the scoops of coffee I'm putting in the filter. "Am I making it too strong for you?" 

He laughs. "No. I was just thinking that you don't seem to be the type to make your own coffee. I'm impressed." 

I push the coffee filter in place, then turn the machine on. "I'll let you in on a secret, Mulder. If I concentrate really hard, I can move things." 

He's looking at me as though I've sprouted a second head. Then he laughs. Hard. The sight makes me smile. I wonder how long it's been since he's laughed like this. 

He coughs, gasping for air. "I don't believe it. As much time as you spend shaking your head at the things in my reports, you know dialog from Carrie? Amazing." 

"It's one of my favorite movies," I say, grabbing two mugs from the cabinet. 

"Please, sir. You're ruining your surly, gruff image." 

"God forbid I should do that," I say in my best AD tone. I haul out the cream and sugar. 

"That's better. It's going to be hard enough to face you, knowing you know the words to Thriller." He looks around the kitchen. "Where's the pie you lured me here with?" 

"I didn't have to lure you, Mulder. You go where the food is. Remember, I sign your expense reports. The money you spend on food could feed a small nation for years." I slide the foil covered pie pan in front of him and uncover it, revealing a delicious looking pecan pie. 

He leans down and sniffs. "Smells delicious. Like a real pie should. Looks good, too. Do you have whipped cream?" 

I feel my body tighten, recalling a dream that involved whipped cream and hot fudge. Damn. Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all. "I think there's some in the fridge." I root around in the refrigerator, and pull out the can of whipped cream. "Will this do?" I ask, handing him the can. 

Shaking the can, he frowns. "There's not much left. Will your sex life be thrown off if I use the rest?" 

I frown, not comprehending. "I don't..." 

He continues shaking the can, looking at me. "Your... lover won't mind if there's no whipped cream?" 

What the hell? "My lover? Mulder, put the damned whipped cream on the damned pie." 

"Yeah, but you didn't answer the question." His tone is very, very nonchalant, and it makes me wonder. 

"Oh, the lover part?" I can't believe Mulder is actually interested in my love life. Or is this his way of finding out if I'm available? My over the top libido seems to think so. Hmm...rational or wicked? I'll take wicked for seven hundred. "Whipped cream is so cliched, Mulder," I say, pitching my voice an octave lower. "I prefer peach preserves. It doesn't leave that milky aftertaste, and it's very arousing to sop up with a warm biscuit." Take that, Mr. Profiler. 

He blushes. Never thought I'd see the day when he'd be embarrassed. "You...humph." He clears his throat. "I...too much information, sir." 

"Hey, you asked. Must be all those watery beers going to your head." 

"Must be." His cheeks are still a bit red, but he squirts the cream on his pie, and sits down at the table. Forking a hunk into his mouth, he chews thoughtfully. "This is delicious, sir." 

"I can't take the credit." I watch him wolf down the pie in three bites, licking whipped cream from his bottom lip. This is torture. I've got to do something... "Mulder...about my dreams. I've got to tell you..." I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. With all the deep breaths I'm taking, I'm sure I'm going to hyperventilate before the night is over. "Okay, we've already established that there's sex involved." 

He sips his coffee casually. "I believe the term was hot sex." 

I swallow hard. "Are you going to talk or listen?" He shrugs, and I plunge ahead. "The dreams...well, I've been having these dreams for a while now. It's been the most amazing...and the hottest experience that I've had in a long time." 

He looks at me and nods. "So...is it something you want to come true? That you can make come true?" 

"Yes, but no." I think I may have answered too quickly. "I mean, it's a big risk when sex is involved. Things could get ugly if the person doesn't feel the same way. I could lose my job." Oh, shit. Too much info. I watch his eyes narrow thoughtfully. 

"So...it's someone at work?" He looks at me again. I feel as though his eyes are piercing right to the core of my dreams. "Is it Scully?" 

Scully? I wish life was that simple. If it was Scully, I wouldn't be losing sleep. I'd chalk it up to overexposure and go on with my life. "No, it's not Scully. If it were her, I wouldn't tell you." I shake my head. "This was different...like it was meant to be. But if I told..." 

"I know how you feel." His eyes are wide and innocent. "It's always risky, baring your soul to someone, not knowing how they'll react. I'm sure it'll be okay." 

He sounds so sincere, so hopeful. I can't take it anymore. "Mulder..." I look at him again, into his beautiful eyes, and lose my nerve. I shake my head. "I just can't tell you. It's not that I don't trust you, it's just too hard." 

He shrugs. "I understand. But if you change your mind..." 

"Thanks," I say. Time to change the subject. "Are you hungry?" 

He licks the fork thoughtfully, regarding his empty plate. "I could eat a meal." He stands and takes his plate to the sink. After rinsing it off, he frowns. "Where's your bathroom? All that beer is starting to jump on my bladder." 

"It was three weak beers, Mulder. Never thought you were such a baby. Through the living room on the left," I instruct. "You can use any towel on the rack. What do you feel like eating?" 

"Anything," he says. "Well, no pizza. I had that last night." 

"Fine. I know a good Thai place. They only take about ten minutes to deliver." 

"Thai's cool. I like noodles and rice. Chicken's good. So is shrimp. Don't forget the spicy sauce." He disappears into the other room. 

"Yes, Master," I say, as the bathroom door closes. I heave a sigh of relief. I'm starting to ache from unrequited lust. God, why did I invite him over here? As if having him next to me during the basketball game wasn't torture enough. Having him watching me like I'm the last glass of water on a hot day certainly isn't helping. I'm a fool. A hot, horny fool. I need an ice cold shower, before I do something we both regret. I stalk over to the phone and order dinner. 

After ordering enough food to feed an army, I head up stairs to get out of my jeans. The way my dick is acting tonight, I need some room. I figure cool water will help my erection, as will a nice loose pair of sweats. 

* * *

Ten minutes later, I come back downstairs, slightly cooler, wearing a comfy pair of sweats and a T-shirt. For some strange reason, Mulder is still in the bathroom. Thank god. I don't think I'm ready to face him just yet. The doorbell rings, and I head for the door. 

I open it, and find a pair of blue eyes regarding me lustfully. "Hiya, G-Man." 

Shit. I forgot about Ginger, the delivery girl for Thai Palace. Anytime she delivers, she has a habit of trying to seduce me. "Hey, Ginger," I say with a sidelong glance toward the bathroom. I take the bag from her. "How are you? How much do I owe you?" 

"I'm fine anytime I see you, G-Man. Your bill is eighteen bucks. I snuck some spring rolls in your order because I know you like them." 

"Thanks." I hand her twenty-five dollars. 

She licks her lips and smiles at me, moving closer. "You always give good tips, G-Man. What do you say I-" 

"Damn, Skinner," Mulder interrupts, "what did you order?" 

Grateful for his sense of timing, I thrust the bag in his arms. "Food, Mulder." I open the door and wait patiently. 

Ginger looks at me, then at Mulder, then at the door. "There's extra shrimp in the Pad Thai, too. Maybe your friend would like-" 

"Thanks, Ginger, but no." I give her my patented AD look. " _Goodnight_ , Ginger," I say in my 'your ass is grass, Agent' voice. 

She smiles at me again, not intimidated at all. "Okay, G-Man. See you next time. Enjoy your dinner." She brushes past me and out into the hallway. 

I close the door and sigh. Mulder's unpacking the bags, grinning like a loon. "What?" I bark. 

"Ooh...down, boy. I was just thinking what an interesting interlude that was." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, first of all, that her name is Ginger. And given the fact that all the women I've met tonight have cutesy names, it's a strange coincidence. And that she was looking like she wanted to break federal laws with you. And a few state and locals statutes, too. And that you tipped her like, ten bucks, G-Man." 

With a sigh, I explain, "Ginger was walking the streets and some guys beat her up. I was overseeing the Napton case...you remember that undercover bust with the drug/prostitution ring? Well, Ginger was caught in that. She was only fifteen. I got a friend of mine to take her in, and the owner of Thai Palace gave her a job. She gets good tips because she's fast, and always makes sure my order is right. She's a nice girl, but I'm not into jailbait. " 

"I didn't mean to imply that you were. It's just...I've never seen anyone flirt with you before tonight. Twice now. I'm out of sorts." 

"I can imagine. Ginger's quite a handful. You want a drink?" 

"Sure. What do you have?" 

I go to the kitchen and open the refrigerator. "Iced tea, lemonade, beer, ginger ale. Or hard liquor, if you'd prefer." 

"The watery beer was enough for one night. Iced tea is cool." 

I grab tea for him, lemonade for me, and go back to the living room. 

"This is surreal," he says, taking a long swig of tea. 

"It's just regular tea, Mulder. Nothing fancy." 

"No, not the tea. It's...I can't imagine you grocery shopping." He piles steaming noodles on his plate. "I mean, you're always at work. Late night, early morning. When do you have time to shop?" 

"Well, since you asked, I'll let you in on another secret. I'm an Assistant Director of the FBI. The annual salary lets me live a semi good life. That doesn't include overtime, bonuses, and kickbacks from shady government types. I have a housekeeper who cleans my house, makes sure my clothes get clean, and sees to it that my refrigerator has the things in it that I like to eat, on the rare chance that I'm not in my office waiting to hear that you've been arrested, shot, or whatever." 

He blushes. "Nice perks. I think I'm jealous." 

I chew on my spring roll thoughtfully. "There are many disadvantages as well, Mulder." 

"But the money, power, respect, and women must outweigh the disadvantages. And the fact that you don't have to wait in line at the cleaners." 

"Well, there's that, of course. The money's good, the power's overrated, and the respect...I do get a perverse thrill watching junior agents scurry out of my way in the halls of the Hoover. But I must admit, the women have been pretty scarce." 

"You probably haven't noticed them. They're behind every potted plant and file cabinet, waiting for you to walk by." He shakes his head. "Women seem to go for types like you. You alpha males exude something...I don't know what it is, but if I could bottle it, I'd be rich. One whiff, and women would swarm you. Like those basketball chicks." 

I shrug. "Not my type, so they don't count. I'm sure you have your share of fans, Mulder." 

"Not really, unless you count Bob, the cross dresser in Travel, and 44DDMama, my online pal. Most women think I'm weird." 

"Weirdness can be attractive. Just have to find the right woman. I mean, people think I'm surly, but I've had my share of women. You just have to know what you want, and go for it." 

"Uh, sir, you _are_ surly. And it's attractive...uh, to women, that is. It's okay to be grouchy, or grumpy, but mention an alien or a global conspiracy, women run." 

I laugh. His sense of humor is razor sharp. Adorable. How did I not see this before? "Mulder, Mulder. It's all about finesse. Any woman can be seduced with the right touch." 

"All you alpha male types think alike. A man like you could have any woman you want, yet you always do the honorable thing. Absolutely amazing." 

"I'm not always honorable. In my heyday, I'd have taken all of those basketball bimbos home, and went back for another set the next night." 

He chuckles. "You go, boy. I think I'm jealous." 

"You were invited to share in the five-some. Women love you. You just don't know it." 

"It's not that," he says with a shake of his head. "That there's a whole other side of you that I know nothing about. You have a fridge full of food, you know Michael Jackson songs, you've got seduction tips, and you like pecan pie. Hell, you even had a heyday. Everything I am is about the X-files. Monster Boy Mulder. No secret life, no nothing." 

He looks so forlorn it takes every ounce of self-control not to wrap him in my arms and give him a fucking he can write about in his diary. "It's not a bad thing to be devoted to your cause, Mulder. Although, I happen to know that you're not _all_ about the X-Files. It's a well known fact that you play ball on Saturdays, you go to basketball games, and I heard through the grapevine you like old Sci-fi movies, Plan 9 From Outer Space being your favorite." 

His face lights up. He seems pleased that I know things about him. Surly or not, I'm really good at little details. 

"Still, put that way, I sound like a prime candidate for Loserville." He sighs. 

"Mulder, don't be so hard on yourself. You're fine just the way you are." 

"Yeah, yeah. I guess I just want a life...and someone to share it with. To go see a movie, to dinner, Sunday brunch, a long walk...to smell cigarette smoke without looking around for Consortium goons." He sighs again. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be dumping my loneliness on you." 

"Don't worry about all that," I say. "I don't mind listening. If you don't mind me asking... why you don't just take Scully? You guys are friends, right?" 

He looks at me. "We're the best of friends, but she's not...I'm...it's not the same. She doesn't understand this part of me." 

"What's not to understand?" I ask, taking another swig of my lemonade. "You're a highly intelligent, driven, passionate man, with a wicked right cross, who wants a life and someone to share it with. Nothing wrong with that." 

"It's the 'someone to share it with part' that's the problem. I'm too driven, too passionate, and too intelligent for any one person." 

"Well, gee, Mulder, I'll go to a movie with you if you'll explain the big words to me." 

He laughs. "I didn't mean it as an insult. My last date called me cerebral, condescending, and basically a dud." 

"I wouldn't say that. Definitely not cerebral, certainly not condescending. As for being a dud...well, maybe it was the wrong date for you...or...." 

"That's all right, sir. I know I can be...obnoxious at times." At my raised eyebrows, he adds, "With some more than others." 

"The understatement of the year," I say dryly. "I must have a sign on my head that says 'annoy me, Mulder'." 

"Not really. I just react to you sometimes," he says with a shrug. "Maybe I just need to relax and let life pass me by." 

I snort. "I don't see that happening anytime soon. Let's be realistic here. If you want to date, you have to keep certain things in mind. Rule number one: No woman wants a man who's uptight and tense. Of course, I learned this _after_ my divorce, but trust me." 

He nods in understanding. "What do you do to relax?" 

"I box, lift weights. Sometimes, I read. I like to fish. And I have a fondness for poker." I shrug. "I often find sex very relaxing, though I'm having a bit of a dry spell these days." At least, involving another person's physical presence, I amend silently. 

"You find sex relaxing?" 

His incredulous tone makes my eyebrows rise. "You don't?" 

He shakes his head. "I...overall, I've found my recent sexual encounters to be edgy, awkward, and unfulfilling." 

I wonder how recent, and immediately regret my musings as my body reacts to those lustful thoughts. "Edgy?" 

"Maybe it was performance anxiety." He stands up suddenly. "Can I get another iced tea?" 

I don't have to have a degree in psychology to recognize classic avoidance. Or maybe he's just nervous. I am his boss. I wave him toward the kitchen. "Help yourself." 

A few minutes later, he's back with another tea, and lemonade for me. "You've even got chocolate milk in your refrigerator." He frowns at me. "You don't find sex edgy? Not even the first time with someone?" 

"I think edginess comes from a lack of trust in your partner." I shrug. "Or maybe you're just having sex with the wrong kinds of women." 

And so here is my chance. Should I come out and say it? Or should I be macho and pretend? 

Being macho has never been one of my strong suits, so I figure honesty will be my policy. "Well, maybe that's the problem." 

"The wrong woman?" he asks, his dark eyes searching mine. "That's easily fixed, Mulder." 

I squirm under the intensity of his gaze. Spit it out, Mulder. Stop stalling. "Uh...no, the woman part," I answer. "I'm on the wrong team. No wonder sex is edgy." 

His lips turn up at the corners...god, please don't let that be the makings of his classic sucking-sour-lemons look. He surprises me by nodding. "Forgive my gender typing. Wrong guy?" 

I amazed that he's not amazed. "Seemed right at the time, but I was wearing my lust glasses." 

" _All_ of them?" he demands in that tone of his that always makes me want to check to see if my socks match. 

I frown at him, reminding him we are talking about my personal like, or lack of it, here. "Okay, it was only one guy, but it was a disaster." 

"Well, that's different. I'd worry if you told me you've only had bad experiences with...male interaction." 

I chuckle at his choice of words. I'm putting that in the 'things you never thought you'd hear your boss say'category. "Interaction? That's quite a euphemism, sir." 

"Yeah, well, call it what you want. I do know that sex between men can be a disaster if one of the parties isn't relaxed enough." 

He says this so nonchalantly that I gape at him. "And having been married for the past seventeen years, you know this because...?" 

"I wasn't always married, Mulder. And I'm not married now." 

I blink. He can't be...I mean, I profiled him, but this was basically a shot in the dark. "You're kidding, right?" 

He lifts a massive shoulder in a shrug. "Well, since we're playing truth or dare... I've had my share of men. Some good, some not so good." 

I shake my head back and forth. "System overload." 

"What?" 

"Too much information to absorb. You smile, you eat, you have gay sex...when you said you had a heyday, this was not something I figured in to it." Not that it doesn't thrill me to know he's been around the block, so to speak. 

"Oh, please. My life isn't much to brag about. As far as men go, I've had my share of same sex, uh sex, wistful longings, and outright lustful attractions." 

"Anyone I know?" I blurt before I can stop myself. "No, never mind. I shouldn't have asked." Yeah, right. Maybe he'll tell me he's been pining for me since the Tooms case. 

His eyes shift to the side for a moment, then he looks back at me. "Don't laugh, but I've had a thing for Martin Sheen as long as I can remember." 

I gape at him. "Martin Sheen? Hmm...I suppose he's...yeah." 

"Apocalypse Now had a lot to do with it. Something about his eyes. I an eye man, I guess." He shrugs. "And I did have a thing for Krycek, speaking of eyes." 

And here I was all ready to talk about Martin Sheen. Shit. I can't even begin to focus on _that_ right now, considering he's hit the nail on the head. "Krycek is hot, but not exactly the most...romantic guy." 

"He's the one?" 

I feel my face warming. "And only." He'll probably fire me tomorrow. I can't even say I was drunk or drugged. "Uh..." 

"Not good?" 

"I'm not sure. It all happened so fast. We were in the car, and..." I trail off, not really wanting to give up the intimate details to my _boss_. "Um, we weren't on a case or anything, sir, I..." 

"I'm not writing this down, Mulder," he says in his uniquely surly way. "We're just talking here. Bonding." 

To trust, or not to trust. Trust no one. But then again, Bob Dylan did say you're gonna have to trust somebody...no, I think he said serve somebody, but I'm mentally rambling again. Well, since I do have ulterior motives... "Anyway...I wouldn't do it again. Kind of a wham, bam, don't call me,'cause I'm not calling you until I want to, thing. I don't even think he took off his jacket, and it wasn't at all what I thought it would be. Maybe I read too much." 

"Too bad. I thought he'd be a real hot piece." 

"Maybe for you he would be." 

He looks at me. "No. He's not what I want." 

"Well, he's no Martin Sheen, but his eyes are-" 

"No," he repeats. 

"No? Nice lips, and he's well hu-" 

" _No_ , Mulder." 

There's something in his eyes I can't describe. Kind of like a hungry lion surveying a field of gazelles. My spidey sense is telling me to leave. Before I can react--or run--I'm on my back and he's looming over me. "Oh, no..." 

"Yes." He smiles at me. It's a sexy, devilish grin I could grow to love. "My tastes run more toward brilliant, driven, sunflower seed eating men, who are too intelligent for their own good." 

I bite back a moan. If he only knew how long I've wanted to hear those words. Well, not those exact words, but I'll take what I can get. That I am getting what I want, and with such ease scares me, and I panic. I can't let this happen. "Sir...Skinner..." 

"Shut up, Monster Boy Mulder," he growls. "Kiss me like you know you want to." 

Licking my lips nervously, I look up at him. The desire I see gleaming in his eyes makes me shiver. "How...you knew?" 

His chocolate eyes bore into mine. "The dreams, Mulder. It was you." 

* * *

I watch his eyes widen. Then he does just what I feared he'd do. He laughs. "Shit!" 

I clench my teeth in anger. "Mulder...either hit me or walk out on me, but don't laugh at me." Maybe this wasn't a good idea. I did just pounce on him. I pull back, trying to sit up. 

He sobers immediately, grabbing my arm in protest. "I'm laughing with you, Skinner. You don't know how funny this is." 

"Well, since you're the only one laughing, I suppose I don't." My jaw is clenched so tightly, I'm sure I can taste tooth dust. 

He smiles a gentle smile at me. "I...dreamed about you, too. Hot, hot, hot sex, Skinner. Embarrassingly hot." 

"Son of a bitch." I feel slightly dizzy. This is so...this could only happen with Mulder. "Are you serious?" 

"Very. I'm been having these dreams for a while. I wake up with...let's just say I do a lot of laundry." 

I realize what he's saying and my heart starts racing. I look at him. His eyes are blazing with passion. And something else that I can't quite place. Kind of like need. "Yeah, me too. My housekeeper thinks I have a hot sex life." 

"You knew I was...attracted to you. How?" he asks, looking at me with a frown. "Was I obvious?" 

"I've been your boss for five years, Mulder. We've never really been together in a non-professional setting more than a few times. Suddenly, you're in my office with phony cases, inviting me to basketball games, having dinner at my house, and flirting with me." I shift slightly, allowing him to feel the hardness trapped in my sweats. "Why?" 

He inches his hips upward. "I wanted you. This. Us...it was...god, please... Get off me, Skinner. I can't do this." 

He sounds confused. I know he wants me, but doesn't want to be hurt again. I know I want him. And I'm surely not going to hurt him. So, I ignore him. He started this, and I'm damned well going to help him to the finish line. "Walter." 

"Huh?" 

"My name, Monster Boy." I thrust against him slowly, tantalizingly. "Walter. Say it." 

* * *

"I..." My dick has begun to throb to its own beat. Walter. Walter. Walter. The chant is firmly entrenched in my head. Walter. I toss my head from side to side. "Please, Wal...sir...Skinner. I can't deal with another..." 

He places a large hand over my mouth. "You want me? This? Us?" 

The feel of his hand covering my mouth is so erotic. What a dom he would make. All I can do is nod. 

"Tell me." He takes his hand away. 

"If... I... we do, then what?" 

"Everything. I want it all, Mulder." He sweeps his tongue across my bottom lip. "No pain, no games. Just us. This." 

"I want it," I gasp as he nips at my chin. "I really do, but..." 

"Let me make you feel it, then. Show you how a real man makes love." He tosses his glasses on the table. "It can be so good..." 

"But-" His kiss cuts off my protest. Who knew that my hard-assed, surly boss had a tongue that could make me moan? Who knew that his lips were so soft? So demanding? So... I groan. I'm drowning...I drag my lips away. "We shouldn't do this..." 

"Yes, we should," he replies, then he pulls back, looking at me intently. "What is it?" 

"What if it doesn't work?" My tone is whiny, but I can't help it. "You're still my boss and it would be awkward if we break up because I'd still have to see you in meetings and to get 302's signed and you would ignore me and it would hurt and people would wonder why and then they'd laugh at the water cooler and Krycek would tell you all about us and laugh and Cancerman would be smoking in your office laughing at me, and showing pictures of us together at the Ice Capades, and then-" 

His hand goes back over my mouth. "They're all gonna laugh at you. I get it. You really talk too much, Monster Boy Mulder. Let's just take it one step at a time." 

I shake my head, my eyes imploring him to listen. He moves his hand away. "Sir, you don't know-" 

"I do know, Mulder. Trust me on this one thing. We need each other. You need me. To steady you, to give you something to put your back against. I need you. To loosen me. To make me smile. To show me how to have fun. And for this," he says, moving his erection against mine. "Don't move. Let me give you a taste..." 

I move my hips upward with a groan. "Is this where the Smoking Man jumps out of your closet and yells 'surprise'?" 

"Are you deliberately trying to turn me off, Mulder?" 

"Ah...no, sir..." I shiver as he licks my neck. "That would be dumb of me." 

"Hold on to that thought, Monster Boy." 

"Wow, a nickname...are you going to pin me, too?" 

He grinds me into the sofa. "You don't feel pinned enough? I must be slipping." 

"If you slip me out of these jeans, this would feel a lot better." 

"Too easy," he says, pressing his hips down. "In my dreams, it was so damned good." 

"This is kind of like an X-file." I say, fighting the urge to flip him over and ride him like a wild man. I move my hips up, seeking his heat. 

He gathers my hips in his big, sexy hands. "You want me to sign the 302?" He sweeps his tongue across my bottom lip again, and as I gasp at the contact, he slips his tongue in my mouth. His kiss isn't like anything I've ever experienced. It's a hot, searing kiss, full of fire and passion. He tastes like some exotic blend of spices, lemons, and just plain Skinner. I groan and pull back. 

"What?" His voice is rough with passion. 

He's thrusting against me and I can feel that he's hard and huge. For me. My head is swimming. This is happening too fast. "We should...Damn." It's all I can say. Fuck it. I pull him closer and kiss him again. 

"That about sums it up," he gasps as his lips blaze a trail down my neck. 

I tug on his T-shirt until I free it from his sweats. To my delight, he shivers as I run my hands across his back, gently caressing the muscles there. "You feel good, Skinner. You're built like a statue." 

"Are you saying that I'm made of stone?" 

I move my hips against his. "Some parts of you definitely qualify." 

He answers with a hip movement of his own. "Tell me about your dreams, Mulder. Was it... good? Slow and easy? Did I make you scream? Tell me." 

"Yes." He's moving faster against me. "It was all of that. But it was more..." 

"More?" 

I nip lightly at his neck, causing him to shiver again. "You...I was yours. That's what you kept saying to me. That I belonged to you." 

He toys with the snap of my jeans. "Are you sure, Mulder? I want you to be sure." 

"I've been dreaming about you for a long time. I'm sure." I suck in my breath as he eases my zipper down. "Wha...what about you?" 

"Yes, I'm not sure." He slides his hand inside my jeans and caresses my raging erection softly. "This is probably insane, but too bad. I want you. Right now." 

"Yes," I sigh, and arch into his touch. 

* * *

Oh god, I'm burning. He's so hot, so wild...I press him into the sofa and grind against him hard. 

He pants at the contact. Taking advantage of his parted lips, I set my mouth on him and devour him. I feel him respond wildly, his body molding to mine. He feels so good in my arms. So hot, so uncivilized. I move my hands over his lean frame, burrowing under his shirt to tease his nipples. They peak instantly, and I give them a small tug. He yelps and tightens his hands on my hips. 

I slide my hands down and cup his beautiful ass, pulling him closer still. He groans and tightens his hands on my shoulders. I slip my thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and push them down past his lean hips. His cock is thrusting against the confines of his boxers. I free it, and caress it, reveling in the fact that it's practically dripping. I thumb the moisture, and spread it around the head of his cock. 

"Oh," he moans. He grabs my wrist in a vise grip. "Please...god, please." 

"Easy..." He's holding my wrist, forcing my hand back and forth on his cock. I feel like I'm trying to gentle a wild animal. He's moving in my hand, going for the gold. I give him a long, hot kiss, and he explodes. 

He shouts into my mouth and goes limp. "Mulder..." I twist my wrist from his death grip and let go of his dick. He jerks again. 

"Uh, sorry..." 

He looks at me. I can see the satisfaction on his face, but his eyes...there's something there I can't quite place. "Mulder...are you all right? Did I...are you hurt?' 

"No." The word comes out stilted and curt. 

Tensing, I look at him again. Shame. That's what I see in his eyes. I lean back and look at the semen on my hand. "I'm sorry, Mulder. Really. I...we won't mention this again, okay? Just...fuck it." I roll off him, and head upstairs, leaving him there panting on my sofa. 

* * *

I hear a door slam and jerk out of my trance. Damn. Of all the times to freeze. I tug my pants up and take a deep breath, willing my body to stop shaking. I drag myself off the sofa, and head up the stairs, taking them two at a time. 

At the top of the stairs, I pause, listening. "Skinner?" I hear a small movement and head in its direction. "Skinner?" I stand in front of what I hope is his bedroom and knock lightly. I get no response, so I turn the knob and push the door open. 

He's standing at the window, staring out into the night. I move closer and put my hand on his shoulder. "Skinner..." I realize I don't know what to say. 

He turns to face me. "I thought you'd be gone by now." 

I drop my hand from his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen." 

The hurt dulling his brown eyes is heartbreaking. He shakes his head. "I know, Mulder. I shouldn't have...it was inappropriate of me to take advantage of you that way. You can call a cab and I'll-" 

"No!" I say forcefully. "It wasn't that, _Walter_." 

His eyes flash at my use of his first name. He looks angry. Pissed. "Then what was it?" His tone is sharp and he's back to sounding like a bear. Not good. 

"It was-" I begin, but he holds up a hand. 

"Did you think that you could just...profile me, and get what you wanted? Make me think you wanted me, needed me, just to get your kicks? I'm just supposed to go back and sit behind my desk, knowing that I could make you moan like that, feel you respond like that? Knowing that you're _dreaming_ about me every night? Fuck you, Mulder." 

I feel guilty. "No, it wasn't that. I was...ah, overwhelmed by the...ease at which I...shit. It was...too fast. I came like a school kid. I didn't want you to think that I was...easy. That's how I felt with..." I trail off, certain I'm blushing. 

He lets out a huge breath. "Oh, hell, Mulder. I thought...when you froze like that, I thought you'd changed your mind." He tugs me into his arms. "You do burn a man to a crisp, Mulder. But it's something that I...relish, knowing that you can respond like that for me. Kinda like biting into an apple, and finding a jalepeno inside." 

I laugh uneasily. "That's a good thing, right?" 

"Yeah, it is. I didn't expect you to be so sensitive, so easily aroused. Especially not with me...in this situation. It was a definite turn-on." 

"You think I'm...easy?" God, how pathetic. 

He grabs my hand and places it on his crotch. It feels like a boa constrictor is coiled in his pants. "You felt it...you knew what I was feeling. How could you think that about yourself?" 

I know I'm blushing. I like my hand there, though. "Blame it on the flashbacks. It just felt so good, so fast. Too fast. You're...you've got game, Skinner. Definite game." I reluctantly slide my hand away. 

I have the pleasure of seeing him blush again. Cute, if I'm allowed to be sappy. "Game, huh?" He ponders this for a moment, then smiles. "So...I've got a proposition for you." 

I arch my eyebrows at him. "Does this involve whipped cream, a pogo stick, and Martin Sheen?" 

"Kinky, but not what I'm thinking." He steps closer, putting his arms around my waist. "You want me?" 

Maybe that's a rhetorical question. "My moaning your name didn't make that obvious?" 

"You're sure?" 

"Again with the moaning answer," I say, frowning. Where is he going with this? 

"Then, you'll have to seduce me." 

* * *

I smile as he nearly chokes. "Didn't I do that already?" 

I shrug and move back. Time to see if he's serious about this. "If that's all you've got. I want to be sure you're...what I want." 

"Oh." He looks hurt for a moment, then shakes it off. "If you're not sure, maybe-" 

"So you just profile, and don't follow up?" I taunt. "Maybe you can't handle me." 

"I can handle you, and a hundred men like you," he sasses. "Can you handle me?" 

I shrug again. "That, Monster Boy, is entirely up to you. You want me, come and get me." 

He backs me against the window. "You want to be seduced?" His voice is husky, sultry, his body brushing against me lightly. "I can do that. Give me a few days; I'll have you all over me, screaming my name, doing things that are illegal in most states. " 

Hmm... that thrills me. A lot. I lean into him, letting him feel my erection. Nibbling his ear, I whisper, "Then come get me, Monster Boy. Make me want it. Want you. Make your dreams come true." 

The End? 

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